I have had to write this, if only to keep the warship knot of my personal life from becoming ordinary. Adultery is a very ordinary thing, just a series of clever impulses that wind through dinner parties, blocking out childhood memories and college flings. Simply another fear of getting caught, the likes of which you would find on any street ignoramus. Now I’m walking along the perimeter of the sidewalk, all the necessary papers in my unobtrusive, rudimentary briefcase. Knock, knock, I walk in, sit down on their sofa, pull out the papers, kick their stupid pet when no one is looking. Then it rears up on me with its enormous, cumbersome tail, pointing at me like some great fluff of a scorpion.
“Now Bookle-Duck,” he says. “Hey hey, stop that, yes, that’s a good girl.”
He fed the beast a Bound cookie and scratched its rabbit ears for a few, far too long, minutes — the sentimental behavior of a man bored by life. You can always catch the team players, the omega dogs, by how much they resemble their pets. He looks like the cross breed, the way his hair uncontrollably bounces with every silly movement he makes. Bookle-Duck squealed a bit, sauntered into the kitchen where I assume she was — was she as nervous as I? — I got out the contract, feeling like some Gestapo Mefistofeles.
“Your boss is a rich woman.”
“Which Roman?”
“No, no, rich woman. A rich woman. She is a rich woman.”
“Oh yes, of course, delighted, as always.”
He brought some cookies from the kitchen, force fed them to me and then let Bookle-Duck growl at me in jealousy, occasionally batting me on the head with its huge tail. I could not tell if it smelled like onions or body odor. I left without talking to her, absolutely no suspicions, my nervous task victoriously, nonchalantly accomplished.
Andrew — was just tooling around the blog, but I wanted to remark on this quickly. I really love what you’ve done with this story so far. You’ve got a real knack for characterization that’s coming out, I think, in the small details. I love the bit about omega dogs resembling their pets, for instance, the “force fed” in the last paragraph, and oh especially the ominous “she” — delicious.
A quick question about tenses, though. I love this line: “Now I’m walking along the perimeter of the sidewalk, all the necessary papers in my unobtrusive, rudimentary briefcase. Knock, knock, I walk in, sit down on their sofa, pull out the papers, kick their stupid pet when no one is looking.” It’s so rhythmically sound, and I love the way it’s working in present tense. It’s a great transition from the meditative first sentence, and the “knock, knock” is so visceral. Great stuff. Shortly after, though, there’s a switch to past tense that you sustain throughout the rest of the story that threw me for a loop. A minor inconsistency, maybe?
Thanks for commenting Katie — I keep trying to do this, have a present tense excursion after the exposition — I guess I need to keep fiddling around with it. I was conscious of it, however.
I’ve been thinking about this — I bet you could incorporate both; right now, though, the switch feels a little arbitrary, and I’m not sure WHY the present tense excursion deserves to be in present tense. If you use both tenses, you need to signal to the reader that it’s an intentional choice, and not just an accidental lapse. I’m going to keep thinking about this; like I said in my first comment, the “Knock, knock” sentence is so delightful in present tense. I’d love to see you incorporate it as is.
Hmmmmmmmmm, thinking thinking
Bookle-Duck is actually a giant squirrel with rabbit ears — it isn’t a dog. Just wanted to clarify that.